


Speaking in Code

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-21
Updated: 2007-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark and Bruce must go undercover at a newlywed resort to try and stop an assassination attempt.  Hijinks, UST, and reluctant making out ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking in Code

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Используя шифр](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4970308) by [Melissa_Badger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melissa_Badger/pseuds/Melissa_Badger)



Bruce Wayne steered their little flyer carefully across a bridge, grumbling half-heartedly at Clark Kent. They were driving through deep forest on their way to Clearwater Newlywed Resort, the most renowned resort on the planet of Khrihll.

"I don't see why it should have to be us. I know almost every Khrihllian has black hair and blue eyes, but why not send J'onn with you? He could play the part."

Clark was eyeing the brochure with a mix of resigned humor and unease. "You know perfectly well it's safer to send along people who actually match the part, Bruce. And that goes for dyes and contacts as well. Besides, we're the only two members of the JLA who speak Khrihllian, or at least a variant close to it."

"Huzzah for old diplomatic missions that required learning obscure galactic languages," grumbled Bruce. "But I should be in Gotham."

Clark sighed and his voice took on a lecturing tone. "If the Garkk star system has indeed sent shapeshifting assassins to assassinate the newlywed Kings of Khrihll, and if war does indeed break out between the two systems, you know perfectly well Earth is right between them. You won't have to worry about protecting Gotham at all if they decide to make Earth a battleground."

"I know that," snarled Bruce. "I'm just not interested in spending a weekend--" he gestured angrily at the pamphlet, "-- _relaxing_ and _enjoying myself_."

"God forbid," murmured Clark. He raised his voice. "Well, it's not _my_ fault Khrihll marriages are only between men. Believe me, I'd much rather have Diana here with me for--" he glanced at the brochure, "--pointers on sensual massage."

"Pointers on _what?"_ Bruce grabbed the brochure away from Clark and groaned at the schedule. "This is going to be the worst weekend of my entire life."

Clark tipped his seat back and stared at the ceiling of the flyer. They still had another thirty minutes or so until they even got to the resort, and already they wanted to kill each other. He could tell it was going to be difficult to pull off pretending to be newlyweds.

 **: : :**

 **16:00-17:45: Getting to know you! Introduce yourself and your beloved to your fellow guests!**

Bruce nudged his chair closer to Clark's. Clark shifted his chair slightly away without really seeming to notice, trying to give Bruce his space. Bruce pushed himself close again and grabbed Clark's elbow before the Kryptonian could move. "We just got married yesterday, he's still a bit shy," he explained to the couple next to them who were looking surprised at Clark's stand-offishness. Bruce looked around the room. In a society where only men could marry, it was obviously much less taboo--indeed, expected--for male couples to show affection in public. All the other couples at least had their arms linked; one man was even sitting in his new mate's lap. Bruce sighed inwardly and clasped Clark's hand firmly in his own, looking around the room to see if any of the other couples looked uncomfortable. The lap-sitter might be overcompensating, he mused.

"A bit shy, yes," Clark said belatedly, looking like he wanted to drop Bruce's hand. Bruce twined his fingers more tightly through Clark's, squeezing.

"My goodness," said the man left to them, smiling at his partner, "It's such a relief to finally be married, I know I can hardly take my hands off Shath!" The man beside him--presumably Shath--leaned forward to kiss him passionately. "Still, shyness is a rather adorable trait, in its own way."

"No flirting, you," growled Shath teasingly, running a hand through his partner's hair.

"All right, everybody," announced the resort guide, standing up. "Welcome to Clearwater Resorts' Newlywed Getaway Weekend! This is your chance to more closely bond with your loved one as you begin your happy new life together." He beamed at the ring of couples. "Many of you probably already know this, but we are honored this weekend by having here our royal majesties, Gian and Kolto." He bowed in the direction of two regal and very young men, who nodded slightly. The other Khrihllians all genuflected, clasping their hands in front of their faces; Bruce and Clark followed suit while Bruce scanned the crowd to see if anyone was a little slow to show their respect.

The guide went on cheerily. "We'll start the retreat with introductions. And to make this appropriate--and more fun--each of you must introduce your partner by telling us five things you love about him." The introductions started to circle around the room; Bruce listened carefully to each gushing, adoring declaration, trying to pick out who was shamming, which couple were actually the assassins in disguise. He knew that next to him Clark would be listening for changes in heartbeat, so he focused on their nonverbals. The other couples all seemed quite sincere, and Bruce suddenly realized that Garkk might have sent two lovers for the job. That would make things more difficult, because--

"--virtues of your beloved, sir?" Bruce realized belatedly the guide and the other couples were waiting for him to say something. Bruce had been so busy focusing on the possible assassins that he had forgotten to come up with a convincing list of endearing things about Clark.

"Oh, hi," he started lamely. They were both supposed to be kind of shy, so that would be helpful. "My name's Bruce--" It was actually pronounced something closer to "Bruss" in Khrihllian, but close enough. "--and this is my partner, Clark. Clark is--he's very reliable. You can always count on him." Well, that was no lie, at least. "And he's brave." He had to come up with three more. The expressions on the other couples' faces seemed to indicate that his responses had been lackluster at best so far. "As you all can tell, he's incredibly handsome." A murmur of amused appreciation went around the room and Clark looked flustered. "He's also, uh, brilliant, and he's the kindest person I know." He smiled at Clark in a style he hoped could pass for besotted.

Clark blinked and then rolled his eyes very slightly. "Probably the thing I love most about Bruce is his wicked sense of humor," he began, with a rather wry smile. "And he's much braver than I am. He's also the smartest person I know--and I know a lot of very intelligent people." He paused, most likely completely unable to think of another good thing to say, Bruce thought sardonically. "I know he would disagree, but he's also very kind, although he tries hard not to let anyone know. And he's a lot more beautiful than he thinks he is," Clark finished up in something of a rush.

The crowd made appreciative sounds at Clark's romantic speech. Clark looked very uncomfortable. Fortunately, the other couples seemed to have decided this was a sign that Clark felt so deeply about his new husband that he couldn't express his powerful emotions in mere words.

"Did you catch any anomalies?" Bruce asked after the introductions were done. "Anything that might indicate someone was Garkk and not Khrihll? Or at least that they were lying?"

Clark shook his head as they walked down the corridor together toward dinner. "Their shapeshifting skills are extremely good, and it's not surprising they'd be excellent at controlling their breathing and heart rate as well."

"I saw some suspicious behavior here and there, but nothing good enough to go on." Bruce looked over to see Clark frowning, lost in thought. "Any ideas?"

Clark glanced over at Bruce. "Do you really think I'm 'brilliant'?"

Bruce made a scoffing noise. "It's hardly flattery. You've got perfect recall and an excellent mind, you'd better be brilliant." He scowled at the Kryptonian. "I can't believe you called me 'beautiful.' Of all the ridiculous things to say."

Clark's frown deepened. "I thought it went over well." Bruce made another irritated noise and Clark muttered something else which was lost in the noise of the dining room as the doors swung open.

 **: : :**

 **18:00-19:30: Dinner time! Savor the most luscious regional foods with your new life-partner!**

Clark dipped a piece of bread into something green and began to eat it, savoring the rich herb flavor. Khrihllian cuisine was eaten entirely by hand, no utensils. He was still chewing happily when he realized Bruce was glaring at him. He glanced around the room and realized that all the other couples were feeding each other, tenderly holding bits of food between their fingers for their partners to nibble on. _Oh, for the love of--_

Clark forced himself to smile apologetically at the man next to him. "I'm sorry...honey...it just looked so good," he explained.

Bruce held up a piece of bread, smirking slightly. "Here you go, dear," he said sweetly.

Clark leaned forward and took the bread from Bruce's fingers with his lips. He saw Bruce's eyes flicking over the crowd and knew he was looking for signs that other people might not be aware of Khrihllian table manners. Clark held up something that looked slightly like a small tomato. "Open up." Bruce opened his mouth and Clark popped the red globe into it.

Bruce's lips accidentally brushed his fingers as Clark finished feeding him.

The sensation made Clark feel very uncomfortable, somehow. Other couples were taking the opportunity to nibble on their lovers' hands, and there was something rather unnervingly sensual about the whole thing. The man next to him was dipping his fingers into a pot of some kind of pink cream, holding his fingers up for the other man to lick clean with some rather embarrassing slurping sounds. Or rather, sounds Clark found rather embarrassing; the other couples seemed to be enjoying them quite a lot.

Clark looked back to see Bruce holding up pink-covered fingers, a wicked grin on his face.

"Oh, sweetheart, you know that's not my favorite," Clark said hastily. The bastard was enjoying this, relishing making him feel uncomfortable.

"Oh, just a little won't hurt," said Bruce blandly, and reached out.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Clark reluctantly let Bruce put his fingers into his mouth.

The cream was actually quite delicious, and Clark carefully lapped it off Bruce's fingers. Beneath the sweetness of the cream he could taste the faint salt tang of Bruce's sweat. "Mm," he said without really meaning to, and curled his tongue around one of Bruce's fingers.

Bruce removed his hand rather abruptly. "See? It's not that bad," he said.

Clark scooped his fingers in turn into the pot and held them out, dripping. "I know _you_ like it," he said rather archly, causing Bruce's eyebrows to twitch in annoyance. The other man opened his mouth reluctantly to Clark's fingers.

The inside of Bruce's mouth was hot and slick. Moist, silky skin surrounded Clark's fingers. Bruce made a surprised noise and closed his eyes as he licked the cream off Clark's fingers, his tongue slipping around them. Clark felt a sudden urge to move his hand, explore the inside of Bruce's mouth, brush against the scarlet velvet...he caught himself with an effort and extracted his fingers gently.

"That was...delicious," Bruce said, sounding surprised. Clark remembered the sweet fragrance of the cream and felt his mouth watering again. It had been awfully good. Bruce dipped his fingers back into the cream and held them out, grinning. "Trade?"

Bruce was licking the last bit of cream from Clark's fingers when their neighbor nudged Clark in the ribs. "You two getting ready for a long hot night, I guess?" he said, leering slightly. "A little _hlar_ goes a long way, you know."

"Skand's right," said the man's partner. "Eat too much of that and you won't get any sleep at _all._ "

"Would that be so bad, now?" Skand said, waggling his eyebrows at his mate. They laughed and went back to drinking their wine.

Clark looked at the empty pots, then at Bruce.

Bruce shrugged. "I'm sure it doesn't affect humans or Kryptonians the same way," he muttered in Kryptonian.

Clark certainly hoped so.

 **  
20:00-22:00: Sensual Massage Workshop! Learn how to better use your hands to good advantage--soothe away the cares of the day and warm your partner up for the night!**

"Let's start with you getting the massage, Bruce," Clark said, shifting from foot to foot nervously. They had both changed into light cotton robes emblazoned with the logo of the resort and were standing in front of a massage table.

"Don't be shy, people!" chirped the massage therapist. "Just slip your arms out of the robe and lie down on your stomach and we'll start teaching your husband how to treat you right!"

Bruce disrobed to his waist with as much dignity as he could muster and laid down on the table. There was a pillow specially designed so he could rest his face into it without discomfort. He closed his eyes and focused on listening to the conversations of the couples around him. Maybe one of them had even the slightest Garkkian accent? He concentrated intently on the chatter nearby.

The pillow smelled faintly of the damned cream they'd had at dinner.

As he listened carefully to the other couples, Bruce could feel Clark's hands on his bare shoulders. They were strong, of course, but unbelievably gentle as well, and seemed to find and soothe the knots in his neck and shoulders with uncanny precision. The Kryptonian could probably use his x-ray vision to see where the tense places were. The hands on his shoulders were slick and oily. Bruce found himself remembering how they had felt in his mouth, the taste of them.

The other couples' conversations were terribly boring. They were mainly innuendo-laden discussions of what they were going to be doing to each other tonight. Bruce tried to concentrate on them, but Clark's hands were working down his back, stroking across his sides, comfortable and soothing, and he started to feel warm and somewhat sleepy.

He almost jumped off the table when Clark's hands wandered lower than his waistline, then realized that the instructor had told him to move that low, and Clark could hardly risk standing out by ignoring the instructions. Bruce gritted his teeth as Clark's hands stroked and caressed, tentatively at first and then with greater confidence as Bruce didn't try to hit him. It was entirely impersonal, he reminded himself. There was no reason to be offended by Clark's warm, gentle touch. It was for the mission they were on, so there was no cause for umbrage at the intrusive hands touching where they really had no right to, firm and delicate at the same time. Bruce almost gasped as Clark's fingers brushed along areas they definitely should not be brushing. No reason to take offense. Just relax. Bruce tried to concentrate on the chatter around them. The pillow still smelled sweetly of the _hlar_ he had licked off Clark's fingers. Clark's fingers slipping past his lips and into his mouth.

There was absolutely no shame in finding one's self aroused in such a situation, Bruce reassured himself as Clark's hands moved back up along his back at the instructor's prompt. It was a physical reaction to having one's erogenous zones massaged lingeringly and skillfully, hardly avoidable, actually. Bruce took deep breaths and thought un-erotic thoughts, and by the time the massage was done he was able to sit up briskly as if there had been no effect beyond some relaxation. "Your turn," he said, steering Clark toward the table. Clark tensed, knowing now how--and where--the massage was going to go, but he had little choice but to lie down, as Bruce smirked at him.

Bruce got his hands oily with the bottle provided and started on Clark's shoulders, listening to the cheerful massage therapist with one ear and following his instructions. Clark's muscles were as taut as if expecting a blow, and Bruce felt a twinge of unexpected pity at the man's discomfort. He leaned forward to put his lips to Clark's ear as if to whisper an endearment to him. "Don't worry, Clark. It's not a big deal," he said reassuringly.

Clark turned his head enough to shoot him a look composed equally of venom and misery. "Don't _condescend_ to me," he hissed before turning his head back into the pillow.

Well. If that was how the Kryptonian was going to be... Bruce pounded at the tight muscles of the other man's back vigorously enough to get him arched eyebrows from some of the other couples. A few minutes and two increasingly sore hands later, however, he gave up and merely let his hands glide over Clark's shoulders and back without paying much attention to it. The skin under his hands was just slightly smoother than human: a small enough difference in texture that no one else might have noticed it. Bruce smoothed more oil across the broad back and felt the porcelain skin slip under his palms. Returning to the shoulders, he realized to his surprise that some of the tension had gone out of the stiff line of muscle there. Frowning to himself, he actually put some effort into soothing out the tight muscles and was gratified to feel them loosening and relaxing under his hands.

The instructor told them to start moving down below the beltline, but Bruce hesitated. He'd been looking forward to making Clark as uncomfortable as he had been, but now that he had put so much time and effort into the massage he hated to get the Kryptonian all tense and annoyed again. So he just ran his fingers gently along Clark's waist and across the small of his back, alert to any increase of tension in the body under his hands, not going any lower. Clark's sides rose and fell gently with his breaths, remaining relaxed and quiescent under Bruce's hands. Bruce resisted the temptation to slip his hands under the light robe and check to see if Clark's ass was really as tight as it seemed under that spandex. He moved his hands back up to the shoulders, and Clark shifted a little and made a small, querulous noise.

"Come on, Mr. Bruce, why aren't you following my instructions?" The massage instructor was smiling and making encouraging motions with his hands at Bruce. "Isn't he worth it?"

Bruce felt the shoulders under his hands stiffen. "He's...very ticklish," he said hastily. "I promise I'll try your tips in private later."

A gust of laughter went around the room and the instructor lifted a coy eyebrow. "Oh, _ticklish?_ Say no more, then." The smirk on his face indicated there was some cultural allusion to being ticklish that Bruce didn't know, and he kicked himself mentally while plastering a knowing leer on his own face. "I suppose we're done here," the instructor went on as Clark shot Bruce an annoyed look. "Shall we let the ticklish twins get back to their room for lights out?"

More laughter. Clark pulled his robe on and tried to stalk out of the room ahead of Bruce, but Bruce grabbed his arm. He felt Clark restrain himself from shaking him off. "It's all right, honey," he said soothingly, patting Clark's arm. "It's not your fault."

Clark glared daggers at him. Bruce bared his teeth in the closest thing he could manage to a smile as they swept out of the room.

 **: : :**

 **22:15: Lights Out! Let the soothing songs of the dusk-warbling _thillarn_ ease you and your beloved into slumber...or any other activities you might wish. Sleep well and happily, if you know what we mean!**

"Good going, Bruce, way to not draw attention to us," snarled Clark in their room later. "Did you think I was going to punch you if you touched my ass? You think I'm that unprofessional?"

Bruce shrugged. "You seemed so relaxed. I kind of...hated to make you tense again." He looked surprisingly contrite, and Clark's annoyance wavered, but he gritted his teeth and held on to it.

"Well, I'm tense again anyway now."

A flash of smile went across Bruce's face like a shooting star and he held his hands up, wiggling his fingers. "Shall I try and relax you some more?" The smile disappeared at Clark's scowl. "Sorry. I forget you _enjoy_ being tense."

"Oh, you're one to speak, Mr. Relaxation."

Clark sat down on the bed--the lone bed. Of course. It was a distressingly small bed, too. "I can sleep on the floor," said Bruce magnanimously, as if reading his mind.

Clark frowned. "Don't do me any damn favors, Bruce. And like I said, don't condescend to me. I'm probably going to be staying awake all night listening for any suspicious conversations anyway." He looked over at Bruce, who was opening the window. "Where are you going?"

"I want to get a feel for the layout and investigate the facilities. You keep listening and see if you catch anything." He paused at the balcony, his face in shadow, and blew Clark a sardonic kiss. "Don't wait up for me, honey." Clark muttered darkly to himself as Bruce's form disappeared into the night.

The room was quiet. Clark laid down and focused his hearing to try and take in the conversations through the building. To his irritation, of course, most of them were filled with endearments, heavy breathing, groans of passion and cries of ecstasy. The distracting screen of noise made a fairly effective cloak, and if the assassins bothered to communicate at all they did it in code.

Clark idly wondered if they had made up a code where the sounds of lovemaking could double for discussions of strategy. So that person panting "Yes, yes, harder!" could actually mean, "What time should we strike?" and the number of moans the person responded with could be their answer. Clark tried to keep his hearing skimming lightly across the raunchy conversations, trying not to invade privacy too much. He still heard an awful lot.

Maybe he and Bruce should have come up with a code like that. One where "I love you so much" meant "I believe we're being watched," and "I've waited so long for this moment" meant "Do you detect any enemy activity?" Maybe "You make me so hard" could be a suggestion for a certain battle strategy, and "That's so fucking good," could indicate approval of that strategy.

Clark's mind wandered a bit as he contemplated how the code would work and what a conversation in it would sound like between the two of them. Speaking in code. Bruce's hands on his shoulders, skimming the small of his back. "I've wanted you to do that for so long" could mean "I think we need to call in reinforcements." Bruce's hands pausing, not going lower, warm and taunting. "Please, oh please, I want more," would be code for...for something. Clark wasn't sure what.

 _Please, oh please, I want more._ It would have to be a fairly important concept. Something like "I think we're in terrible danger."

Drifting in a confused jumble of half-dreaming thoughts, Clark heard Bruce slip back into the room, felt the bed sag slightly at the other man's weight. "Got a good idea of the layout," Bruce muttered, lying down. The bed was too small, and Clark could feel one of Bruce's shoulderblades touching one of his, ever so slightly. One foot grazed his calf. Clark lay in silence, caught between sleeping and waking, feeling those two points burning on his body, like points of light.

"I think we're in terrible danger," he muttered sleepily.

Beside him he heard Bruce snort. "What else is new, Clark?"

Clark felt sleep tugging at him. He remembered Bruce's tongue curled around his fingers, Bruce's hands sliding across his bare back. Bruce's toes were just barely touching his leg.

 _I think we're in terrible danger._

 __**11:00-1:00: The Newlywed Game! Test your knowledge of your love's quirks and habits for fun and prizes!**

Bruce sighed as he and the other men were led from their waiting room back to where their "spouses" awaited them. No assassination attempts yet, and he was beginning to wonder if this was all an elaborate ruse. The two young kings seemed so totally at ease and relaxed...was this something J'onn or someone else had cooked up as a hare-brained attempt to make sure he and Clark got some R&R?

If so, it wasn't working. Bruce felt more tense and frustrated than he had in a long time. _Please, just let someone try to kill someone else so Clark and I can get out of here before..._

"Welcome back, young sirs!" announced the resort MC, a cheesy grin on his face. "While you were gone, we asked your spouses a series of questions. Your job is to try and guess what they would answer. The winner gets an extra week's vacation here at a time of their choosing!" Bruce fervently hoped they wouldn't win _that._

The preparation for the game had not gone...terribly well. "Look," Clark had said, exasperation tinging his voice, "I _understand_ that you want to manage our performance in this game so we're not suspiciously awful. But I'm just going to answer everything as honestly as I can as if we actually were a couple. You can tailor your responses however you like. You're better at the whole 'lying thing'--" he reached up and made air quotes, "--than I am."

Bruce hadn't slept well and he was feeling annoyed at the whole idea of having to get through this ridiculous game. "Don't use air quotes," he had snapped. "It looks ludicrous. I _hate_ when people do that when I'm arguing with them."

Clark had crossed his arms and looked vaguely hurt. "I'm just going to be as honest as I can, all right? The game-playing is up to you."

He was crossing his arms again as Bruce re-entered the room and sat down next to him, but he wasn't looking hurt. His expression instead hovered between amused and annoyed.

The smarmy MC turned to Bruce first, as they were apparently the first couple of the queue. "All right, Bruce. Your first question is: where was your first date?"

Bruce couldn't help smiling a bit at that. If they really were a couple, he knew how Clark would answer that. "On a cruise," he said smugly.

Clark held up his little card; indeed, "Cruise" had been scrawled across it. Bruce went to high-five Clark and realized everyone was looking at them. "What?" he said.

Clark cleared his throat. "I think we're supposed to, uh, kiss when we get the right answer." As Bruce stared at him, Clark leaned over and gave him a very chaste peck on the lips.

The rest of the room groaned in disapproval. "You call _that_ a kiss?" jeered the MC. "We don't often get such bashful newlyweds around here." As everyone laughed and Clark looked uncomfortable, the MC went on, "Well, you'll do better next time you get a right answer, I'm sure."

They went around the rest of the room, with most of the couples getting their question right and engaging in enthusiastic liplocks. Of all the planets to end up on, it had to be one where public sensuality was encouraged! Bruce braced himself as the next round started. He had to get the question right--they already looked suspicious. And when he did, he'd have to kiss Clark again, and more "sincerely." He felt the brief, passionless touch of Clark's lips on his like an echo.

"This one should be easy, Bruce. What would Clark say is your most valued possession?"

That _was_ easy. "My car," Bruce said quickly.

Clark looked surprised and held up his card: "father's stethoscope" was written on it. As the MC berated them, Clark said, "I'm sorry. I thought that was easy."

Bruce kicked himself mentally. He forgot sometimes that Clark actually knew Bruce Wayne, the real Bruce Wayne, and not just Batman. The Kryptonian looked chagrined. "That's okay, Clark, we'll make up for it next round," Bruce said, trying to sound like he cared about the game at all.

Most of the other couples got their sloppy kisses in before it came back around to Bruce and Clark. "Bruce, which one of you drives worse?"

Bruce couldn't help smiling just a bit, remembering a few adventures in the Batmobile. "Clark does." Clark grinned and held up his card in agreement, then leaned over to meet Bruce's lips again.

Bruce tried to make this one look more like a real kiss, closing his eyes and letting Clark's mouth rest on his for a moment. As Clark pulled away, though, he couldn't resist leaning closer and whispering in Clark's ear, "You try to slip me any tongue and I swear you're getting the ring when we get home."

Clark's face was bland as he sat back in his chair and he didn't indicate he had even heard Bruce, but there was an odd glint in his eye. The next question was "What's the last thing Bruce does before he goes to bed every night?" Also easy: "Check to make sure the doors are locked," said Bruce wryly.

Clark nodded and held up his card with the correct answer, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. Then, as the room applauded, he put his hands to Bruce's shoulders and pulled him close.

Mental alarms went off at the look in his eyes just before the kiss, but Bruce was still unprepared to find Clark's tongue between his lips, probing at his teeth, prying them open despite himself ( _Tongue of Steel,_ his mind suggested with lunatic calm), and licking at the inside of his mouth like flame. Bruce felt a puff of shocked breath escape him as Clark's tongue slid over his, caressing his teeth one last time as it retreated. Clark learned close to Bruce's ear and whispered, " _You don't_ _ever, ever threaten me,_ Bruce. Not even as a joke." His voice was hoarse and Bruce heard him swallow once as he sat back in his chair to thunderous applause, his cheeks very red.

They glared at each other.

The next question was "Where's the strangest place the two of you have ever made love?" If they were a real couple, the answer would probably be "In the Arctic," or "In mid-air," but the answer that was simultaneously believable and close to true would be..."In a cave," Bruce said. As Clark held up his card with the matching answer on it, Bruce lunged forward and put his mouth to Clark's, taking his turn to try and invade the other man's mouth.

He had expected Clark's lips to stay stubbornly sealed, knowing he could never breach the Kryptonian's defenses...and so he felt a shock ring through him as Clark's mouth opened up to him immediately, moist and hot before his questing tongue. He heard someone make a tiny noise and he couldn't tell if it was Clark or him as he tasted and felt and caressed...

He felt rather dizzy as he pulled away. The other couples seemed to be taking a terribly long time to respond. It would never be their turn again at this rate. Bruce just wanted to get this all over with and get away from here. Damn it, the other couples were answering so slowly. He couldn't look at Clark. Clark's mouth, sliding open like he didn't mind it. Like he wanted it. Impossible. This was all ridiculous.

 _Why was it taking so damn long for their turn to come around again?_

 __The next question was "What's the one item of clothing Clark wears that Bruce can't stand," which was also easy, because they both knew that Bruce hated the ratty Metropolis sweatshirt Clark liked to wear around the Watchtower sometimes. "Lacking in dignity," Bruce always called it. "Comfortable," Clark always retorted. But Bruce wasn't focused on the argument because he was leaning into another kiss, and this time they were both taking turns teasing and exploring, taunting and defying and daring the other to go for more. Going for more. Clark lifted his hands as if he was going to bunch them in Bruce's hair, then dropped them back to his sides with an apparent effort.

They separated to appreciative wolf-whistles from the other couples and a leer from the MC. "Well, you two certainly seem to know each other quite well," said the MC. Was that just a touch of suspicion in his voice? "You're crushing the competition, certainly." Bruce caught Clark's eye and saw the unspoken thought pass between them: too much. Winning would call attention to themselves. It was time to put away silly macho games and make sure they they didn't win.

So Bruce got the next three questions in a row wrong, even though he knew perfectly well what Clark's favorite comfort food was and which one of them hogged the bed covers. They actually staged something of a fight over that one, much to the audience's merriment. The third question was what Clark's preferred sexual position was, which Bruce actually honestly got wrong. Clark's face was scarlet to an extent that almost made Bruce laugh out loud: the image of Superman being forced to admit that _if_ he were in a sexual relationship with Batman his favorite position would be bottoming while face to face was...humorous indeed.

Very humorous.

So the questions went around and around and Bruce continued to get them wrong, until they were hopelessly behind and the MC was getting tired of making stale jokes about them choking. The other couples kissed and billed and cooed, and Clark looked increasingly unhappy, even woebegone. Of course the man was as competitive as Bruce was, so he was miserable about having to throw even a silly contest like this, when they could have won so easily.

The last question, finally. One more question and Bruce would never have to worry about having to kiss Clark Kent again. Ever. Thank God. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Clark's expression as the MC turned to them to ask the last question. The Kryptonian looked oddly sad, and his teeth worried at his lower lip just a little, as if there was a taste there he wanted more of.

"Bruce, honey," said the MC sardonically, "You two have managed to entirely blow your impressive lead. This is just for your pride, now." He held up the card with the question on it. "What habit of Clark's annoys you most while you two are arguing?"

Bruce almost laughed out loud. He had just told Clark this one, so the eternally-honest Kryptonian would have dutifully put the correct answer down. All Bruce had to do was say something patently untrue and they'd be free, and he'd never have to have Clark's tongue in his mouth again, or feel those terrifyingly soft lips on his own. Just answer the question wrong and be free. Simple.

Simple.

"It's--" Bruce's voice actually faltered for just a second and he started again. "It's when he uses air quotes while arguing." He didn't wait for Clark to hold up the card, just caught up the other man before he could see the expression in those turquoise eyes and kissed him as if he meant it. As if he meant it.

Clark went very still for an instant, and then his arms were around Bruce as he deepened the kiss, his hands in his hair. Bruce could feel them shaking.

Bruce could feel himself shaking.

Applause prompted them to break off the kiss--Bruce wasn't sure it would have ended otherwise. They sat in silence, not looking at each other, breathing heavily, as the rest of the couples answered their questions. The MC's final speech was like a spell being broken; Bruce stood up on legs that still felt a bit numb and flashed an insincere smile at Clark. "I'll see you at the dance," he said brightly.

Whatever Clark saw in Bruce's eyes was enough to keep him from following as Bruce bolted from the room.

 **: : :**

 **16:00-20:00: Dancing in the dusk! Join us on the veranda under the light of the rising moons for dancing, refreshments, and quiet time. Costumes will be provided for each guest!**

Their room was empty by the time Clark got back to it, of course. There was a neat pile of clothing on the bed with a hand-written note in Khrihllian script: "Two costumes for the dance tonight." Not Bruce's handwriting. Bruce's costume was already gone.

Clark shook out the clothing: a slate-gray faux-military uniform, complete with a ceremonial sword. Clark felt more than a bit foolish putting them on, but they fit well. He looked at himself in the mirror critically. The outfit might even be flattering, if it didn't make him feel so ridiculous.

He wondered where Bruce was. Probably doing something useful--scouting or investigating or something. He certainly wasn't standing in front of a mirror somewhere and wondering if his outfit made him look...handsome. Desirable.

Clark sighed and swung from the mirror to head toward the dance hall.

He entered the large ballroom with its marble checkerboard floors and elaborate chandelier to find a string quartet of sorts playing soft music. Couples wove across the room in an elaborate, mannered dance. Clark would have expected something a little more ribald from such a sensual culture, but he had to admit the twining patterns were appealing as well. The staff was scattered about the room, serving drinks and fostering conversation. Clark watched the guests carefully, hoping to catch a couple that didn't seem to know the steps, but although some seemed more clumsy than others, none were distinctly outsiders.

"May I have this dance?" Clark turned--and struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. The formal blue-gray military uniform, with its high collar and sharp lines, made Bruce look like a prince. He had combed his hair to let it fall almost into his eyes, and was reaching out to Clark with one white-gloved hand. The other rested lightly on the shortsword at his side.

"Bruce, you look--" words failed Clark.

"I look like a damn _anime_ character, is what I look like," Bruce grumbled, shaking black hair out of his eyes. He snapped white-clad fingers impatiently. "Are you going to dance with me or not?"

"I--" Clark didn't dare to hesitate; he reached out and put his hand in the other man's. "All right."

They walked to the center of the room, only to find themselves in a pitched battle over who was going to lead. "Fine," hissed Clark after a moment, "You lead, let's just get this over with."

The dance was complex, but both of them picked it up quickly enough that they were able to follow the patterns. Their hands came apart and together, apart and together, warm and strong, and Clark found himself unable to stop grinning as he met Bruce's eyes across the floor, as they advanced and retreated, close and then far, always ending up together somehow through it all. Bruce's face was solemn and haughty, but his eyes were sparkling.

"I meant to say you look gorgeous," Clark whispered during one pass, moving beyond Bruce too quickly to catch his reaction, and by the time they turned to face each other again the other man's face was unreadable.

The next pass they clasped hands again and Bruce's arms were around him this time, steering him gently through the steps. "You are moderately impressive yourself," Bruce said grudgingly, with a glint of humor in his voice.

The music came to an end, and Clark slipped to the side and then out onto a veranda. Moonlight was just beginning to bathe the balcony. He rested his hands on the railing and looked out over the twilight gardens, catching his breath.

Bruce slipped up beside him, his hand nearly touching Clark's on the railing. "It was annoying, having to throw that game," he said conversationally.

"I found it...annoying as well," Clark admitted.

"I could have answered almost all of those questions correctly."

"I know you could have." Clark looked up at the sky. Khrihll had two moons, one a dark, brooding violet and the other a brighter silver. They were almost touching.

"In fact, I estimate there were five questions I was forced to deliberately get wrong."

"Your point, Bruce?"

"My _point--"_ Bruce shifted so one gray-clad shoulder was brushing Clark's just a bit, "--is that I think you owe me five more kisses." Clark stared at Bruce, whose lips curved just a bit. He reached out and ran a finger along the line of Clark's jaw. "Pay up," he said, his voice too close to inquiring, too close to uncertain, to make it a command.

Clark put his mouth on Bruce's very carefully, very lightly. "That's one," he started to say, and Bruce took the opportunity to dart his tongue between Clark's lips, and everything around Clark seemed to dissolve as he pulled Bruce into his arms as if they really were one of those newlywed couples, lost in sensuality.

He paid back the five kisses and probably a lot more, but they both had lost track by then. Bruce's hands slipped along the slick gray fabric of his uniform, coming to rest on his hips, pulling him even closer. "Wanted this so much, wanted you so much," Clark heard himself mumbling against Bruce's mouth, "Couldn't stand it any more."

Speaking in code. They had always been speaking in code, but the code was broken now and Clark finally understood it.

The moons slid into each other's spheres and nestled together and Bruce and Clark were still embracing.

There was no transition, no moment when their attention wandered, but simultaneously something clicked for each of them. Maybe it was a detail about the costuming suddenly remembered, perhaps a leap in heartbeat caught on the edge of hearing, but they pulled apart simultaneously, bodies poised for a fight.

"The MC," said Bruce.

"The massage guide," said Clark, and they ran for the ballroom just as the lights went out and the screaming started.

Clark remembered the fight later in strobe-like bursts of vision: the MC's smile morphing into something with far too many teeth, leaping at the terrified regents and shrugging off Clark's heat vision with a snarl; Bruce using his ceremonial sword to parry attacks from the now-clawed massage therapist, protecting the guests; the moment they ended up back-to-back, like a dance in reverse; Bruce's eyes gleaming as he riposted, his dark hair falling in his eyes, a cut along his cheekbone trailing blood; chaos and confusion that finally gave way to calm, the assassins subdued.

The resort manager and the two kings gave their shaky thanks to their rescuers. "You have our everlasting gratitude," said one of the nobles formally, bowing deeply. "You are welcome to come back to this resort at any time free of charge, courtesy of Khrihll."

Clark was about to demur politely, but Bruce spoke first. "It was our pleasure, Your Majesty. And we will be happy to take you up on that offer, starting with the next two nights." As Clark gaped at him, Bruce said lightly, "They won't be expecting us back so quickly. And I don't know about you, but I think a short vacation would do us both good." He smiled at the resort manager, who beamed back at him. "We're in room 405. Would you kindly have some of that delicious _hlar_ delivered to our room later tonight?" He reached out and took Clark's hand. "Shall we go to bed?"

At a loss for words, Clark merely nodded and followed him.

 **: : :**

"Out of all those questions, can you believe I only got two wrong? Hell, we're practically married already." Bruce was lying on the bed, still in the gray suit. They had spent the last half-hour or so laughing so hard they barely had energy to kiss.

Clark scooped up a little more of the sweet pink cream and held his fingers out for Bruce to lick clean. "You really think this doesn't affect us?"

"It doesn't make me want you any more than I have for the last decade or so," Bruce said lightly.

"I'm still amazed you got the most prized possession question wrong," Clark mused as he took his turn being served the cream, taking his time and sucking on Bruce's finger with probably unseemly relish.

"I wasn't in the right mode, that's all." Bruce leaned forward and unfastened the top button of Clark's uniform very slowly. "And it's not too surprising I got the question about sexual positions wrong. That's really your favorite?"

"I don't think I really can say until I've tried them all."

"Well." Bruce's eyes slid over Clark's body as if he were the one with x-ray vision. "For future reference, I want to be absolutely sure we have the correct answer on that one."

"For future reference," said Clark, rolling the words on his tongue as if they tasted as sweet as the _hlar_. "For future reference."

Speaking in code.


End file.
